


Now Calculating: Route Home

by Thia (Jennaria)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Episode: e049 Old Oak Doors Part B, Spoilers for episode 49B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1895883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennaria/pseuds/Thia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways Carlos can/might/should come back to Night Vale (triumphant re-entry music optional).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Whoops, Knew We Forgot Something

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Вычисление: Дорога домой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560550) by [halfdeadScorpio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfdeadScorpio/pseuds/halfdeadScorpio)



> Maybe canon will bring Carlos back quickly, but I'm not holding my breath. In the meanwhile? I am all for fluffy speculation on bringing him back early. :-D The scientists are the same ones as from A Kind Of Obscure Fact, or will be when they're more than a general reference in Carlos's head.

Carlos hits END on his phone, and closes his eyes, just for a second. He has a lot of work to do, and usually that's an exciting thing, a wonderful thing, because science! But not now. Right now, he lets himself feel small, and stupid, and selfish, because he doesn't want to be in this fascinating world where there are different rules and different dangers and so many new things to learn. He wants to be in Night Vale, in Cecil’s ridiculously roomy apartment with Khoshekh taking over half the couch and glaring at either of them if they dare to try to sit down, or the subdivided house he still shares with the other scientists because it's a place to keep his stuff until he and Cecil find a place. He wants to be _home_.

There’s something niggling in his head, something about the other scientists, and he opens his eyes again, staring up at his only-sort-of-an-umbrella-anymore. Before he can follow the niggle to its logical conclusion, there’s a sudden shadow against the not-exactly-umbrella.

Carlos jumps back and swings the umbrella into shield position. But it's not one of the masked warriors, or a warrior of any kind. It's a door. It's one of the tall oak doors, with a brass handle on the side facing Carlos.

There's a sign on the door, stained in it with something dark, hopefully just ink. It says, in all capital letters: WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.

Carlos blinks at the sign. Then he blinks at the door.

The door doesn't go anywhere. It just sits there being all door-like.

He could analyze this. He could run away, because he has no way of knowing whether the door actually goes back to Night Vale (although there's a faint smell, like sour peaches and linen, that somehow reminds him of home). 

Instead, he closes the science umbrella, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.


	2. In which Cecil's (current returned) intern is, indeed, awesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maureen will have none of this angsting shit, thank you, not in Cecil's fanfic and not in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we all need more of cranky, calling-Cecil-on-his-shit, reality-phasing Maureen.

Fortunately, Cecil was in the middle of the weather when the broadcast booth door slammed open. He jumped and grabbed for the sawed-off shot-gun he’d taken to keeping in his drawers here at work. Strex might be _defeated_ now and owned by the not-angels, but what if something had gone wrong, what if they weren't gone after all --

No, it was only Maureen. Although that didn't explain the slammed door. Maureen had grown up in Night Vale and knew better than to startle people like that. Besides, Cecil had the vague impression that she could still phase in and out of reality - either that or she'd become much, much better at hiding when he had a perhaps-not-as-urgent-as-he-maybe-made-it-sound assignment for her.

In any case: Maureen, at the door, with a backpack over her shoulders and looking…more annoyed than usual, even for her. “Um. Hi, Maureen.”

Maureen studied him for what felt like a long moment, her eyes narrowed. Then she stepped forward into the booth, leaving the door open behind her. Shadows moved in it, but there were lots of moving shadows in the radio station, especially now. Cecil liked to think the ghosts of the Shawns were still trying to support the station.

“First of all,” Maureen said, swinging the backpack off her shoulders and onto the table next to him, "Here's your research on smiling gods and Strex, and don't you fucking dare say it's late."

Cecil prudently closed his mouth.

"Second of all, I just beta-read your fanfic and emailed it back, which is _still_ not in my job description, and stop abusing your thesaurus, it doesn't deserve it."

"I don't --"

"You do," Maureen said firmly. "At least you're better about comma splices. I suppose that's something. And finally, you need to stop fucking talking about your boyfriend all the damn time."

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Now that was too far, even for Maureen.

She didn't seem to realize, just waved one hand. "I know, you miss him. So I fixed that." She raised her voice. "You can come in now!"

Cecil looked back at the door, his heart in his mouth. The shadows moved again, but it wasn't some ghost, friendly or otherwise, or semi-transparent image of a friend that wasn't actually there. Carlos - _Carlos!_ \- stepped through the doorway, and shyly waved. "Hi, Cecil. I'm home."

"Carlos," Cecil said, and then, "But how - I thought - "

"Your intern," Carlos said. "She came and found me, and brought me back to this reality."

 _It's been a week_ , Cecil wanted to say, and _how is this possible_ , and _thank you, Maureen, I don't care if you never keen to Station Management again, I'll sign for all the college credits you want_. Instead, he said, "You're _home_."

"You owe me," Maureen said, and headed for the door.

"For this," Cecil said, unable to look away from his Carlos, "I will owe you whatever you desire. Within reasonable legal limits!"

"Yeah, well. You better." But she closed the door behind her a lot more gently than she opened it.


	3. In which SCIENCE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos really does work with an excellent team of scientists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original scientists are from A Kind Of Opaque Fact, as is my take on Dave and Rochelle (and the fact that Dana and Rochelle are dating). Go go team science!

Carlos doesn't call his fellow scientists the way he does Cecil. He emails them instead, one email cc'd to them all. It includes all of the data he's got so far on the Other Desert That Is Not Like Night Vale, from the equipment he has with him (which is obligingly staying charged). The email also includes a much more complete and scientific synopsis of his dimensional theory. No feelings are mentioned.

The scientists don't all get the news at the same time. Most of them don't even get the chance to check their emails until late in the evening of June 15th, since they're fighting alongside Tamika and Dana and their armies, or escaping Strex captivity, or taking back their laboratory from Strex 'renovations.' Also, interdimensional internet might be a thing, but it's not consistent or reliable. Dave's copy is time-stamped 3:15 PM on June 15. Pearl's is time-stamped 5:37. Rochelle and Lexie get theirs around 2 AM the following morning, and Adam's copy shows up in his email a week later, inexplicably dated May of 2012.

Not that it matters, because Dave immediately forwards his copy to the rest of the team. Lexie, who's helping him clean out the lab of the Strex 'improvements,' reads it over his shoulder and texts Carlos with _FOR A GENIUS YOU'RE FUCKING STUPID_. Her phone promptly leaps from her hands and slides under the mass spectrometer, where it remains out of reach for five hours, no matter what Lexie tries.

Adam shows up an hour into this. He shows his own text history proudly: after getting Dave's forward, he sent _We reject your hypothesis and substitute our own,_ which went through fine, based on Carlos's return text of _???!?_. Adam claims _his_ text went through because he's awesome. Lexie throws a plastic ruler at Adam, hard enough that it sticks on the wall behind his shoulder. Dave suggests that maybe Adam should take a break from being an asshole until the boss is back, or at least until Lexie has gotten back her phone, and in the meantime there's work to do.

Pearl returns shortly after sunset. Rochelle doesn't get back until nearly sunrise. If either of them tried texting or emailing Carlos, they don't mention it.

*

Carlos worked with a team of five scientists. (Originally it was more, but, well, Night Vale.) They represent a variety of different disciplines, but they've all learned the art of syncretism, melding in science and religion and straight-up magic. They know what they're doing as well as Carlos himself.

Original hypothesis, as presented by Carlos Ramirez: the gates between the worlds (in the form of the oak doors) were maintained and stabilized by the presence in World B (the Other Desert that is not like Night Vale) of persons native to World A (Night Vale). Once all persons native to World A (Dana, Maureen, John Peters, Old Woman Josie, the not-saying-they're-angels) were returned to World A, and all persons native to World B (the masked warriors) were returned to World B, the oak doors lost their stability and dematerialized. Therefore, any remaining persons in World B are not, in fact, native to World A, but possibly native to World B and just...forgot.

First counter-hypothesis, as presented by Lexie Dillard: What's with the binary thinking no really Carlos you know better what the _fuck_.

First counter-hypothesis, revised by Pearl Alnasseri: the gates between World A and World B are indeed stabilized by the counter-pressure of natives of World A in World B, and natives of World B in World A. Those of us who came here from Miskatonic are from the Outside World, World C (or possibly World D, or E, etcetera -according to Adam, it depends on how you count, and whether you get distracted by calculating how many worlds are probably represented by the inhabitants of Night Vale). In any case: World C does not affect the balance of A and B. If it did, then the presence of four more natives of World C on the A side than on the B side would have thrown the whole balance off, and the doors would never have closed.

Conclusion, as stated by Dave Lazlo: your original theory is bad and you should stop feeling bad. We're not sure how yet, but we're getting a gate open again and getting you home if we have to exile Dana again (and we're not doing that because Rochelle would kill us). What science has put asunder, science can damn well bring together again.

*

It's not a rapid process. Even in Night Vale (which is either transdimensional itself or just sited near several dimensional vertices), to find a way to build a gate to a specific alternate dimension, and keep it stable long enough to both find Carlos and bring him back through...they're not only inventing a whole new branch of science, they also have to fill out a _lot_ of forms. The City Council is alive and well and even more paranoid than usual. Nobody blames them, but Adam's heard to grumble that Carlos better come back, he's not filling in any more forms for a while.

Fortunately, they've got resources. John Peters (who's busy on his farm, seeing if anything can be salvaged of his invisible corn crop) still remembers his time in the House That Doesn't Exist. Maureen can't phase in and out of reality any more, but she sits still long enough for one thorough scan (and only one). Josie and her tall winged friends are even busier than John Peters, but any time the scientists are close to giving up, there's a knock at their door, and an angel appears with smiles and peace and hope and really good gluten-free pie. And Dana is willing to put up with all kinds of scans and analysis and theories if it'll help bring back the man who helped her.

Cecil is constantly in the background, spending hours at the lab just sitting and listening. He regularly reports on their progress, and offers to help them track down anything that might help, anything at all. He's the one who finds Cynthia Cabrera, still living in in the House That Doesn't Exist (possibly via still another dimension), and talks to her.

Nobody knows what he says. He doesn't report it on the radio. But there's a knock on the lab door the next day, and when Pearl opens it, there's a very grumpy woman towering over her, who says, " _That man_ said you needed my help."

*

It's not as elegant as an oak door. On the other hand, you can definitely tell which side you're supposed to enter from, because the entire frame is covered in metal and bloodstones and things that go 'ping', including a clear and obvious handle.

The original plan only had the five scientists there, and Cynthia because it was her damn house (she said), and Cecil. Then John Peters wanted to be there, just in case, and Dana insisted on being there, which meant the City Council came along, and several of the Secret Police and agents from a Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency to keep an eye on things, and Tamika Flynn to keep an eye on the Secret Police and government agents because she still doesn't trust them (and for good reason). Josie and her angels just showed up without asking. Leann Hart's come to cover it for the Daily Journal, and Maureen's come to cover it for NVCR, along with several other interns, because (she said) Cecil would be distracted.

Cecil is not distracted. Cecil narrates everything into his ever-present microphone, everything he sees, every text his various sources send him, every incident that Maureen passes him in note format. It seems like half the town is there to see Carlos come home, so there's plenty to report. Cecil's eyes keep returning to the door into the House That Doesn't Exist, but his voice doesn't falter.

Then the low hum from the scientists' machines intensifies. Lexie and Dave bend over the input, Lexie's fingers flying on the keyboard, while Pearl kneels by the door to make minute adjustments to the bloodstones, and Rochelle and Adam keep back the curious crowd. The tension in the air rises with the hum: is it now? Is it happening?

The hum abruptly cuts out. Someone gasps audibly. Someone else moans. But before anyone can speak, can cry out, the door swings slowly, silently open, and Carlos stumbles through.

He's dustier, shaggier, than before. His lovely hair is pulled back into a loose pony-tail, his lab coat is ripped and stained with something that might be blood, and there's a bandage wrapped around one hand. He looks around at the crowd, as if searching for someone.

Dana lays one hand on Cecil's arm. He doesn't need to be pushed. He steps forward, away from his microphone. "Carlos?"

Carlos sees him, and half-runs to him, wrapping his arms around Cecil as if afraid he's not real. Cecil hugs him back, and murmurs in his ear. No one is close enough to hear what he says. No one needs to be close enough. They already know. Cecil's been saying it for over two years now.

The City Council melts away, off back to the work of rebuilding Night Vale. The government agents and Secret Police leave, too, although one or two of them linger nearby. Leann Hart writes one final note on her phone, nods sharply to Cecil (who nods back over Carlos's shoulder), then heads back to her desk to write tomorrow's headlines. Those who came out of curiosity, or uncertainty, they leave too. They've seen what they came for.

Eventually Cecil lets go of Carlos. Carlos turns around, and sees his fellow scientists, already nearly finished with powering down the gate stabilization. Rochelle comes over and hugs Carlos, then Adam joins her, then the others, all in a group around Carlos so he can't be seen and Cecil has to step back and take his microphone back from Dana, who's been reporting all of this as if she never gave up radio. Dana hugs Cecil, waves to the scientists, and leaves herself, talking with Josie. The radio interns follow her with the angels, Maureen asking if Dana has any comment, holding out a small microphone of her own.

John Peters waits until the scientists let Carlos go, then claps him on the shoulder and says, "Well done."

Carlos blinks at him. "But I didn't do anything."

John Peters smiles at him, and heads back to his farm. Carlos opens his mouth as if to call after him. Someone clears her throat behind him, and he turns to find Cynthia Cabrera.

She eyes him up and down. Then she looks back at her front door, which is completely clear of metal, bloodstones, and things that go 'ping.' She shrugs, and looks back at him. "Just stay off my lawn," she says firmly, and heads for her door.

Carlos doesn't stay to watch her. Cecil's taken his hand again, and he's following him (and the other scientists) back, home at last.


	4. In which the Man in the Tan Jacket is unexpectedly helpful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night Vale's favorite ambiguous figure steps forward to offer some help...for a price.

Carlos doesn't remember exactly how he got home.

There's a good reason for that.

*

"Hello, Carlos."

Carlos jumped, and nearly dropped his danger meter (he'd been using it as an impromptu scanner to check local radiation levels). _Who?!_ The only other people who should be here were the masked warriors, who spoke in voices almost too deep to hear, and mostly ignored Carlos anyway. He whirled around, reaching into his pockets for one of the home-made grenades Lexie and Jane Smith had insisted on sending with him, just in case.

The person standing there raised his hands in the classic _I'm unarmed_ gesture. A deerskin briefcase sat at his feet, and he was wearing a tan leather jacket.

Something hissed in the back of Carlos's brain, a memory of his own voice - not directly, but via recording - saying something about a man in a leather jacket like this. Carlos ignored it, and let go of the pin on the home-made grenade. He recognized this man. He was from Night Vale. That alone would've excused a lot. "Um, hi."

"Sorry for interrupting," the man said, waving a hand toward the terrible light (which had gone back to sulking distantly on the horizon once the oak doors were closed). "I know you're busy, but I wanted to ask if you wanted a way home."

"To Night Vale?" 

The man tilted his head to one side. "Why Night Vale?"

_Shit_. Shit, he'd been right, Night Vale wasn't his home and everyone knew it, Carlos thought numbly. But the thought hardly had time to cross his mind when the man grabbed his arm. "No, that's not what I meant. When I said home, _why_ did you think of Night Vale? Don't you have family, Outside?" The capital letter on Outside was clearly audible. "Friends? Connections?"

"Of course I do."

"Then why Night Vale? Why a place that cuts you off from the Outside?"

"Because it's more than that," Carlos said immediately.

"Because of science," the man said, half a statement, half a question..

"I went there because of science," Carlos said firmly. "I know that, even if I can't remember exactly _how_ I got to Night Vale. I heard the stories, the earthquakes that nobody feels, the way people appear and disappear, the mysteries, the deaths, and I wanted to know _why_. I wanted to know how it worked. I'm a scientist, and a scientist is curious. And then…"

Carlos paused, trying to force his memories into some kind of verbal clarity. The man shifted his grip on Carlos's arm, as if he thought Carlos needed the support. "And then?" he said.

"All the stories are true," Carlos said, choosing his words as carefully as he could - he wasn't Cecil, he wasn't good at this, but he had to try.. "All of the stories I heard, and more I hadn't heard. Night Vale kept changing, in front of my eyes. I could spend the rest of my life there chasing answers. We spent the first three months trying to put numbers to something, anything, that wouldn't change the minute we looked away. Then we chose a few things that _didn't _change, or that changed in predictable patterns, and we tried to at least explain _them_."__

__"You could find those here," the man said, tightening his grip again on Carlos's arm. "There's mysteries and questions enough here. You've already seen that. Why Night Vale?"_ _

__"Because we _did_ explain things," Carlos said, stepping back and pulling free of the man's grip with the quick pull he'd learned in Night Vale. "Because I've only just started, and I don't want to start again. Because I have _friends_ there, a life there."_ _

__"Cecil Palmer there."_ _

__Carlos felt himself flush, but forced himself to nod. "Him most of all." It was horribly cliche, but things became cliche for a reason, didn't they?_ _

__The man stared at him for a long moment, then reached out and patted Carlos's shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "It's an excellent start." He turned on his heel and walked away._ _

__Carlos blinked after him. What was _that_ about?_ _

__*_ _

__"Madam Mayor."_ _

__Dana looks up from the piles of work already covering her desk, and her whole face lights up. She pushes back her chair, and comes around the desk to hug her visitor. "Hello!" she says. "I haven't seen you in so long - how are you?"_ _

__"Not as well as you," says the man in the tan jacket, smiling at her. "I've been around. I'd suggest asking Cecil for his tapes of the time you were gone, but apparently my ambiguity field has strengthened."_ _

__Dana looks sharply over at her door, where her personal guards stand outside (a perk of the office, Trish Hidge told her). The man in the tan jacket nods when she looks back. "I walked right past them. I didn't come here to test your security, but I thought you should know."_ _

__"Thank you for the information," Dana says, with a grimace that's aimed as much at herself, or her guards, or maybe the entire office of Night Vale Mayor, as it is at her guest. "Is there any way I can help _you_?"_ _

__The man in the tan jacket smiles again, and shakes his head. "I didn't come to call in favors, either," he says. "I came to ask a question."_ _

__Dana raises her eyebrows and waits._ _

__"You spent nearly 10 months in that other desert world. What was it _like_?"_ _

__Dana waits for another moment, half-expecting him to shake his head and correct his question to something else. When he doesn't - only looks at her, as if he thinks she can sum up nearly a year's experience in a brief sentence or two - she shakes her head and says, "I don't understand. Why are you asking?"_ _

__"I don't know yet," he says. "Call it an experiment. I've taken an interest in your missing scientist friend. I'm sure the scientists - the _other_ scientists, I mean - are investigating all sorts of ways to re-open a path between that world and this one that won't lead to the unraveling of all things. But you? While you were still lost and confused, you recognized a path between worlds when you saw one. You knew when you first saw an old oak door that led to Night Vale in particular: you told Cecil Palmer that you could smell it." He leans forward. "So I am asking you: what did the other desert world smell like?"_ _

__"Oh! Um." That's a much more reasonable question, although she has to stop and think to remember. You stop noticing details like that, after long enough. "It smelled like...like clay and old blood, and the hot winds in the middle of summer."_ _

__"Clay and blood, sand and heat," the man murmurs, as if to make sure he remembers. "Thank you. I don't know if it will be enough, but I can make a start."_ _

__"I hope so," Dana says, and means it. She likes Carlos for himself, not just for the way he makes Cecil's face light up (although that's a big plus). She knew him only slightly before Poetry Week, but you can't fight alongside someone without developing a bond. "I hope I can see _you_ again, too. That is…" She hesitates. He said the ambiguity field was getting stronger, after all. "Will I even remember this?"_ _

__"Oh, yes," the man says, opening the door. He grins, and tosses his long, black hair over one shoulder. "You're mayor now. You might even be able to remember my face."_ _

__*_ _

__"The Dog Park."_ _

__"It's a weak space in the dimensional fabric. Walling it off was for the general public's protection."_ _

__"Then why call it a Dog Park?"_ _

__Carlos looked up from transmitting his latest findings back home to his fellow Miskatonic scientists. "I'm a scientist, not a sociologist or a psychologist. I can't explain the City Council. Actually," he added thoughtfully, "I'm not sure a sociologist or a psychologist could explain them either…"_ _

__The man in the tan jacket grimaced, but spread his hands as if to say _fair enough_. "All right. Then how about banning pens?"_ _

__"I can't read my own handwriting half the time, so I always take notes on my phone."_ _

__"Which is odd, because computers are banned."_ _

__Carlos clicked the Send button with more force than necessary. "Computers are banned at the elementary school, probably because it's either a dimensional hub itself, or extremely close to the House Which Doesn't Exist, which is _definitely_ a dimensional hub. Not anywhere else. Technology behaves weirdly in Night Vale, but it's not actually illegal. Unless the Secret Police suddenly decide it is, but generally they don't try to take away our technology. Why are you listing off all these things? You sound like someone from StrexCorp."_ _

__"I do not --"_ _

__Silence. A long, long silence._ _

__"I used to live somewhere else," the man in the tan jacket said at last, more quietly. "Before Night Vale. A terrible place, with secrets for the sake of secrets, and death for the sake of death, but it was _our_ terrible place. Then something worse than us came, and tried to swallow us up. Some of us fought back, but….we had no determined radio intern in another world, or elder who spoke with the angels, or lethally well-read young woman."_ _

__"What happened?"_ _

__"I don't know," the man said. "I wasn't there. I should have been there."_ _

__"'Help me get home,'" Carlos said, half to himself, hearing Cecil's voice in his memory, repeating something written on a flyer that Cecil's informants had seen and forgotten._ _

__"Exactly," the man said. He sat down next to Carlos. "Night Vale won't be the same, if you do return. Its history, too, is filled with secrets for the sake of secrets, and death for the sake of death. It's excluded you once. Why do you want to go back?"_ _

__"I've already answered that," Carlos said firmly, and picked up his scanner again._ _

__*_ _

__Cecil's headed home. He's tired, and not just of the looks he keeps getting. (Sympathetic looks! Mostly. There's been some tsking because what did he expect, taking up with an Outsider, and also some confusion from new residents who have, as usual, appeared out of nowhere and aren't even sure where they are, yet, much less what has been happening in Night Vale for the past year.) Josie and Pamela Winchell and the not-angels may have stopped the Strex renovations before they got very far, but there's still a lot of rebuilding to do. No matter what he says on his show, he knows it will be a long time before things are really back to normal again._ _

__He parks his car, gets out, and is halfway up the steps to his apartment building when he nearly bumps into Erika._ _

__Only nearly! For one thing, Erika glows with a dark light, which is really kind of a giveaway even if you're not looking up. For another, Cecil grew up in Night Vale, and it takes more than a not-angel suddenly appearing in front of him to catch him _really_ off guard. If he jumps and makes an undignified squeaking sound, that's between him, Erika, and the Sheriff's Secret Police, as the saying goes._ _

___BE NOT AFRAID_ , Erika says, spreading bronze wings over the remnants of a NVCR intern shirt._ _

__Cecil winces, because that was _really loud_. _ _

___Be Not Afraid?_ Erika tries again._ _

__Cecil gives a thumbs up, and follows when the no-really-not-an-angel gestures him back down the stairs and toward the little alley next to the apartment building. He isn't sure who to expect. Josie? She wouldn't bother sending Erika over, not when she could just call. Same with Dana. Who else does he know --_ _

__He steps into the alley. Erika's vanished. There's only a figure that Cecil recognizes, even if he couldn't describe him, not even right now standing here and looking at him. He's got a tan jacket, and a deerskin suitcase sitting open on the ground next to him, and he looks up at Cecil from where he's kneeling next to the suitcase and says, "I'm sorry."_ _

__"For what are you sorry?" Cecil asks warily. He can't hear any street noises, which either means that they aren't in the alley any more (possible) or that something is stopping the noise, something strange and terrible (probable)._ _

__"That you won't be able to remember this," the man in the tan jacket says, standing back up again. "And for your scientist."_ _

__"Carlos? You know something about Carlos?"_ _

__"I know a lot of things about Carlos," the man agrees. "For example, I know how he held out against Strex for so long. But I don't know how _you_ did."_ _

__"...I beg your pardon, I don't understand you."_ _

__The man's attention appears to be fixed on the fly that's sitting on his hand and buzzing at him, but he speaks, perfectly calmly. "You spent months rebelling against Strex in small ways. I understand that. But in the end, they seized you and imprisoned you . They kept you for weeks. How did you do it? How did you look the Smiling God in the eye and _not break_?"_ _

__"Er," Cecil says. "Well."_ _

__Honestly, this is a conversation he's been expecting for quite a while now. He's had it in his head over and over again, imagining both sides of it, as he held NVCR safe. He just thought he would be having it with the Sheriff's Secret Police (who are being pointedly Not Interested, at least so far), or with Dana (who's been busy), or with Carlos (but not over the phone). Not with the Man in the Tan Jacket, in an alleyway, with an Erika who used to be his intern possibly watching._ _

__"This being Night Vale, they had a difficult time finding drugs that would work on me," he says, picking a place to start. "And of course torture loses its sting after a while: there's only so many fingers and eyes and vital organs you can lose and buy back before you're just rolling your eyes, like, _again_? So instead they threatened Carlos, and Janice, and Night Vale."_ _

__The Man blinks up at him, dark eyes widening as if in surprise. "Nobody else? No family?"_ _

__"I don't have any other family," Cecil says. "Unless you count Steve Carlsberg." Which Steve does, no matter how much it drives Cecil up a wall, and which Cecil can't quite regret no matter how much of a constant exasperation his stepbrother might be. "I knew Janice had gone underground with the Girl Scouts, and Carlos had already gone through into the House that Doesn't Exist, and Night Vale…" He'd doubted Night Vale. Sometimes, during those long terrible weeks under the unrelenting glare of StrexCorp imprisonment, he'd remembered how Night Vale had hesitated and failed Tamika. If his fellow citizens wouldn't even fight for themselves, why should he fight for them? "Night Vale is more than the City Council, or the Secret Police, or the hooded figures, or the mysteries and dangers and constant uncertainty," he says, as much to himself as the Man in the Tan Jacket. "No matter what Strex did, I knew that was true."_ _

__"And you brought that belief back to everyone else," the Man says._ _

__Cecil flushes. "With a lot of help!" Dana, and the angels (who maybe, in that other world, _had_ been angels after all, who knew), and the Masked Army, and Josie, and so many other Night Vale residents who had run away or been sent away, but who came back when it counted._ _

__"I know," the Man says. He holds out the fly on his hand, and it buzzes up to land on Cecil's shoulder. Cecil automatically tries to shrug it off, but it won't be shrugged. It settles there, rubbing its little forelegs together as if it were a tiny insect scientist looking forward to a experiment. The Man clears his throat, bringing Cecil's attention back to him. "I'm going to need your help, myself. But in repayment, I'm going to do you a favor."_ _

__"What kind of favor?"_ _

__"One that's not just for you." The Man smiles, and for the first time, Cecil realizes why the Man always looks so oddly familiar. Carlos's hair is shorter, and he wears glasses, but otherwise -- "It's for your Carlos, and perhaps for at least one other person. If you can remember this - for one other person."_ _

__*_ _

__As if apologizing for asking Carlos about Night Vale, the Man in the Tan Jacket brought him a self-contained engine that didn't require fuel. Carlos took it apart and put it back together again, and it clicked and hummed encouragingly under his hands.._ _

__The next time he appeared, the Man brought a set of loose metal bricks that reminded Carlos of Legos. He helped Carlos snap them together (like Legos) into the form of a doorway, and connect the self-contained engine, along with a keyboard. A bit of trial and error, and Carlos could make the doorway vibrate at whatever frequency, or set of frequencies, he typed in._ _

__A few days later, Carlos woke up to find his danger meter on the floor next to him, instead of safely stowed in his bag. Someone - and he was pretty sure he knew who - had uploaded a program to refine the readings: kinds of danger, where the danger came from, what effect the danger might have (fatal, non-fatal/not useful, non-fatal/possibly useful). The vibrating doorway, depending on the exact combination of frequencies, registered as any or all of the three._ _

__It also registered what sorts of smells were in the air. That seemed less useful, but sometimes extra data was the difference between success and failure of an experiment, so he checked that information too._ _

__He was concentrating on experimenting with the frequencies, and the results on the danger meter in front of him, when the Man in the Tan Jacket sat down next to him. "What would you give to go back?"_ _

__"You already asked me that," Carlos pointed out, his hands steady on the keyboard. "Weeks ago, back before you brought me the engine. Why ask again?"_ _

__"Because you nearly have your way back," the Man said steadily. "And I am going to name my price."_ _

__Carlos stopped typing, and turned to look at the Man. "Which is what?"_ _

__"I'm going looking for _our_ Voice," the Man said. "Your Cecil has probably told you that he's here, somewhere."_ _

__Their voice? The only man Cecil had mentioned as maybe, possibly being somewhere in the desert with Carlos was that horrible --_ _

___Oh,_ Carlos thought, as an entire chain of logic fell into place in his mind. "You were in Desert Bluffs," he heard himself say. "Before Strex."_ _

__"I went to study them," the Man agreed. "Like you. But unlike you, I didn't stay in my town. I left, instead of saying yes when he asked. I wanted to _think_." He said the word as if it were a curse._ _

__"And you think you can...fix him?"_ _

__The Man shook his head. "No matter what Strex claims, people are not machines, and can't be _fixed_ back to some arbitrary 'normal.' All I could do with my nanotech is erase his memory of Strex and the Smiling God, and what good would that do?"_ _

__"I don't know," Carlos admitted. "I'm a scientist, not a psychologist. What help are you asking for?"_ _

__"I don't know for certain, yet," the Man - the fellow scientist - said. "I don't know if he'd accept my help, let alone anyone else's. The ambiguity field is strong enough that he may not even recognize me. But I have to try. And when I do --"_ _

__"I'll help. Even if you _are_ from Desert Bluffs."_ _

__He didn't quite manage Cecil's level of disgusted venom in the name, but it was enough. The Man in the Tan Jacket burst out laughing, and hugged Carlos. Then he leaned forward, and typed another series of frequencies into the keyboard._ _

__*_ _

__Carlos doesn't remember exactly how he got home. But when he steps into the radio studio, and sees Cecil's smile, and Cecil's cheeks wet with tears, he embraces Cecil tightly, burying his face against Cecil's shoulder and breathing in the familiar woodsy smell of Cecil's favorite aftershave. He's home. And maybe, later, he'll help someone else get home too._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt for this chapter was 'suddenly, an angel! or a hooded figure! or the Man in the Tan Jacket - wait, that last one kind of makes sense.' Unfortunately, this wasn't enough, and the chapter stalled out until I remembered something I'd seen ages before, _what if Carlos was the Man in the Tan Jacket_? Well, not Carlos himself, but what about his fanon Desert Bluffs double? And the chapter became unstalled.


	5. In which Carlos.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's not that he needs help. Maybe he just needs time.

"Live each day as if yesterday were your last. Welcome to Night Vale."

Cecil sits back from the mic and shuffles through the papers in front of him while the bumper music plays. The paper on top is the peculiarly thick kind that usually means an Official Communication, and Cecil glances it over one more time before leaning forward again.

"Our top story: the light atop our own radio tower has stopped blinking. It continues to emit light, but it does so steadily, clearly, instead of the rhythmic pulses that used to blink reassuringly out of the night. This has not, as of yet, actually caused any problems with air traffic or with our radio signal, although we have received several calls, emails, telegrams, and carrier pigeons, asking if everything was all right here."

Cecil glances down, away from the papers, at the phone that sits by his left hand. It remains obstinately silent. He flips it over. No missed calls, no unread texts, no voice-mails, just the email from this morning he's already read twice. He grimaces, but it doesn't show in his voice.

"The Sheriff's Secret Police report one accident, in front of Jerry's Tacos. According to official reports, the driver was staring up at the red light, glaring steadily from atop the tower, instead of where he was going, and did not see the hooded figure crossing the road. On collision, the car split into a dozen different pieces, as if a ceramic bowl that had been dropped from a great height. The driver was taken to Night Vale General Hospital, but is expected to make a complete recovery, except for his eyes which were burned out by the red light. The hooded figure, of course, was unharmed, and continued on its way, munching on the foil-wrapped chicken burrito it had just purchased."

He turns his phone back over, and carefully pushes it away, before flipping to another paper. 

"And now, the community calendar…"

*

"There's nothing wrong with the radio tower," says a City Council member. They're nervous, Dana can tell. Their voices aren't shaking, and their hands are steady on the table across from her, but they're speaking one at a time instead of in unison. "Lights can malfunction. It happens sometimes."

"Do we know _how_ it malfunctioned?" Dana asks.

The Council members exchange looks. "Of course we do," one of them says, just as another says, "There's absolutely no connection to any other worlds," and a third says, "It isn't important."

Dana sits and waits. The Council waits, too, staring at her with that blank stare that means _we have told you enough_. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone twisting an ivory ring around their finger.

"Thank you," Dana says politely, and stands and leaves the room. 

She smiles to herself as she walks through the halls, down toward the front door to meet with reporters. They're sending her out because they think she's as ignorant as they are, and that she won't fight back. They're wrong on both counts. No connection to any other worlds, huh? She'll be certain to tell everyone that, in those exact words. 

In her pocket, her phone vibrates silently.

*

"An update on the radio tower light situation. The light has resumed blinking, but not in the steady, reassuring, predictable pattern to which we were so long accustomed. Instead, it blinks long, and then short, in a rhythm that is confusing all who observe it. The Sheriff's Secret Police and the Vague, Yet Menacing Government Agency agree that the light is now blinking in Morse Code, as opposed to any other sort of code, but they disagree on the translation. The Vague, Yet Menacing Government Agency reports that our radio tower light is now transmitting - in addition to my dulcet tones - the message _What hath our hands wrought_. The Sheriff's Secret Police insist that the message reads, instead, either _This too shall pass_ or perhaps _This will not pass_ , depending on certain details that the Government Agents have (according to the Sheriff's Secret Police) completely overlooked, and also your relative fondness for the works of J.R.R. Tolkien."

Someone clears her throat behind Cecil, in that almost but not quite soundless way that all NVCR interns learn. He glances back and sees Maureen. She holds up her phone in one hand, and gives him a thumbs up with the other.

Cecil turns back to the microphone, and picks up his one phone, which shows a new message at last. "We here at the station, however, have received still another possible translation," he says. There's something that's almost a smile on his face, but not quite. "Perhaps our irregularly blinking light, atop our radio tower, actually means, _I am coming - and soon._ Further reports as our light continues to blink."

*

A crowd's gathered in front of the radio station. Most of them are either Secret Police (in full uniform including balaclava) or government agents (in obligatory black suits), who lean in toward each other, arguing in hissing whispers that may or may not just be actual hisses.

A bright blue van comes barrelling down the street, blowing past stop signs with the confidence of someone who has immunity from more than just the Secret Police. It brakes to a stop in the NVCR parking lot. A few of the Secret Police and government agents stop their argument to look over in confusion.

The doors to the van swing open, and a seemingly endless stream of people emerge, carrying machines in their arms that beep or blink or mutter, even as they're being carried toward the door. The young woman in the lead, carrying something bulky that mutters in a near-human voice, still wears around her neck a withered thing that might have been a hand, once. From one pocket peeks a slingshot. 

The Secret Police fall back before her, unable to meet her steady gaze. Most of the government agents do the same. One woman in black, reckless, tries to block Tamika's path. "Excuse you, you can't --"

Tamika looks up at the woman. She does not draw a weapon. She doesn't need to. Two more people come up behind her: one enormously tall and covered in tattoos, with a pink bow carefully tied around her head, still walking with the care of someone who isn't entirely used to walking, and one rolling up in a wheelchair, a rocket launcher balanced easily in her lap.

"We're here to visit my uncle," Janice says.

Another government agent pulls the first one away, and shrieks in her ear like a hawk. Her shoulders slump, and she leaves the area, walking off downtown. The parade of those who just arrived pass her, into the radio station, whose doors swung open at their approach. Steve Carlsberg nods cheerfully to the crowd as he walks past, carrying a machine that warbles like a bunch of baby birds that just woke up. The mayor, wearing her old intern shirt, chats cheerfully with the woman walking next to her, who wears a lab coat. In fact, everyone emerging from the van now has on a lab coat. There's Dr. Dubinski from the Night Vale Community College Chemistry Department, and Simone Rigadeau, and a fist-sized river rock that's somehow rolling along and yet still keeping on a small round lab coat of its own. Bringing up the rear are four more people in lab coats who aren't carrying machines. They're carrying enormous trays of pastries. One of them mutters something about _dammit, Dave_.

They all vanish into the station. The crowd watches silently.

The light on the radio tower abruptly stops blinking again and goes dark. The air seems to shiver around them, like a tremor, an earthquake that might or might not translate into reality as they know it.

From someone's radio, in a car perhaps, the weather plays on.

*

"The light oscillated wildly, from unrelenting glare, to wild flashing, to utter and complete absence of light. It was nothing like anything our radio station light had done previously, and we were afraid, because - as a certain very intelligent scientist once said - fear is what happens when a thing that has always behaved one way, does not behave that way at all."

Cecil sits forward, leaning his elbows on the table as he speaks into the microphone. He refuses to glance behind him to where the door to the studio stands open. A familiar voice comes clear from the murmur of voices out in the hall.

"Then, out of the darkness, out of the void that our non-light had left, the light on our radio tower shifted and began to glow - not red - but a deep un-light, the same we have all seen illuminating dreams of distant stars and dying planets. The air around us seemed to tremble, though the earth beneath our feet remained stubbornly still. Then I noticed, appearing on the metal of the tower, like a child's drawing with chalk, a door. A door that took on depth and color and reality, an _oak_ door, with a brass knob."

He pauses to take a deep breath. Behind him, the murmur of voices scatters and dies, as people head back out.

"One of the team of scientists stepped forward, and opened the door. And Carlos stepped through, home at last in Night Vale.

"Oh, listeners….Oh, listeners."

Carlos leans his shoulder against the doorway. He's holding a plate with a couple of Dave's pastries, but his eyes are fixed on Cecil. Cecil doesn't turn around, but he sits up straighter.

"There is so much ahead," Cecil says, as much to Carlos behind him as to his invisible audience. "Night Vale is, and is not, what it was when Carlos left. He is, and is not, the man who stepped through the oak door at the House that Doesn't Exist. There is a new science center at Night Vale Community Center that awaits its new head, and old friends who await news of Carlos's discoveries over in that strange other desert."

Carlos sets down the pastries on the table next to Cecil, and wraps his arms around his boyfriend. Cecil leans back into Carlos's warmth, and his eyes close. "But first," he says, "there is home. And a cat who prefers to hover in the men's bathroom here, but I suspect will take a break to greet an old friend. And a bed. And someone who loves him, very much."

Carlos leans around Cecil, and kisses him for answer.

Cecil opens his eyes, and looks up at Carlos. He smiles, a real, true smile at last. "Welcome back," he says. "And good night, Night Vale. Good night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cecil's opening is, of course, from a Night Vale Radio tweet, 7/30/2013. Even more thanks than usual to my beta, who told me it was nice but not enough.


End file.
